Happy Halloween! Or, not, depending on how you feel about it. Or where you live. It sucks that a lot of kids won't get a proper Halloween this year because of the storm. But the cancellation of a silly holiday isn't near the worst of it. I'm not even a fraction aware of the full devastation caused for so many in this country and others. That's just lucky ignorance. It does feel wrong to go about my life so normally (I guess that's a form of survivor's guilt?), but not wrong enough for me to stop.
We're planning to take HR trick-or-treating to about a half dozen houses. He's into the concept when we talk about it, though I'm not sure what it really means in his mind. If it turns out he doesn't want to do it, it won't break my heart. But I am a sucker for a little kid in a costume, and my little kid is no exception. He's so cute in his self-chosen cow get up that I could cry. Hopefully there will be some pics tomorrow, but smiling for pictures is at the top of that "things he stopped doing when he turned into a toddler" list. It's not a short list. The "things he's started doing" list is miles longer, thankfully.
In the critic's corner: Mike and I watched The Other F-Word last night, which we thought would be a lighthearted documentary about punk rockers reconciling their lifestyle with being family men. It was like that for most of it, but it got really heavy in some parts, and one segment was particularly heartbreaking. We both enjoyed it, but we were not expecting to shed any tears, let alone the quantity that caused many a tissue to meet its soggy demise. I recommend it, but you should know what you're getting into.
In honor of my very favorite scary movie of all time, a really great song.
Can you guess which one I'm talking about?
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Dumb Storm
We were some of the lucky East Coast dwellers, we were barely scathed by the hurricane. It was rainy and scary windy, and a bunch of neighborhood trees took the hit, but our home and family fared just fine and the power never even flickered. To sum up our experience with Sandy:
A relative flea on the dog of our life. I know that a lot of people were not so fortunate, and we'll do what we can to make sure they're taken care of. Natural disasters seem to have a sense of order and fairness, in that everyone gets a turn, somehow, some time. Someday it will be us.
This was already a crammed work week and now I have an extra day to make up for so I'll bid you adieu and big recovery hugs.
A relative flea on the dog of our life. I know that a lot of people were not so fortunate, and we'll do what we can to make sure they're taken care of. Natural disasters seem to have a sense of order and fairness, in that everyone gets a turn, somehow, some time. Someday it will be us.
This was already a crammed work week and now I have an extra day to make up for so I'll bid you adieu and big recovery hugs.
Thursday, October 25, 2012
It Reminds Me of Me
We watched Moonrise Kingdom the other night and, as I generally enjoy Wes Anderson movies, I liked it. But I didn't LOVE it like I loved some others. It was gorgeous to look at of course, the actors were all wonderful, but I feel like it suffered under the weight of all that whimsy. Like I said, I'm not new to the Anderson style and I know that "whimsical" (in concert with "melancholy") is defining, and essential. I even wholly bought into The Life Aquatic with its made-up sea creatures. But for some reason, it didn't feel all the way there like most of his other films. Perhaps the "very special unhappy and misunderstood misfit" trope is starting to wear on me, I don't know. It's not that I don't recommend MK, the scout camp set-up alone was worth the five bucks, but I was just bit disappointed.
I am in no way disappointed in this year's pre-Halloween bounty. I mean, could there BE any more candy in my office right now? I would very much like to eat all the world's sugar but I've gotta pace myself. We're actually planning to do a bit of trick-or-treating next week with HR, I have no idea how it might go, but I'll let you know, and hopefully get a good shot of him in his self-chosen costume.
When I'm driving my car, there are certain songs that come on the radio that cause uncontrollable seat dancing. This is one.
I am in no way disappointed in this year's pre-Halloween bounty. I mean, could there BE any more candy in my office right now? I would very much like to eat all the world's sugar but I've gotta pace myself. We're actually planning to do a bit of trick-or-treating next week with HR, I have no idea how it might go, but I'll let you know, and hopefully get a good shot of him in his self-chosen costume.
When I'm driving my car, there are certain songs that come on the radio that cause uncontrollable seat dancing. This is one.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
And Then There Were Three
Here is some news: awhile back we made decision to remain a family of three, and as of yesterday, it's inked in Mike's ball-blood. That's my elegant way of saying that he had a vasectomy. We didn't really tell people we were doing so beforehand, but it's not a secret. We've known for sure for some time that this was the family that felt right for us, and maybe it seems quick to seek a permanent solution, but we didn't arrive at it lightly. As with many things in life, when you know, you know.
The thing is, I always thought I wanted a big family, at least three kids. And then I had one, and I realized I just... didn't. I was done. I haven't been wishy washy about it since the day he was born. We kept the option open for two years, and when nothing changed for either of us, Mike volunteered his fertility for the chopping block, the mensch (poor choice of words, Mikey?). Maybe if we had started younger I might have felt differently about it, but I didn't, and this is something that I strongly feel is right for me, for us.
Everyone has an opinion about it, which is why we didn't say anything before the procedure. And I understand why they do, I mean, the people who love and care about us. It's not out of busybodyness, but out of concern, for us and HR. It's out of fear that we'll grow to have regrets, that we'll miss out on what a bigger family could do to enrich all of our lives. And you know, maybe we will. But I'm not worried about that. I'm really not. I'm thrilled to go forward in this life adventure with my husband and son. Because even though we choose to limit our nuclear family unit, we are not alone. We have family and friends and we have buckets and buckets of love. We are absolutely complete. It's ok if this makes you sad or if you think we are wrong, I don't blame you. All there is to say about that, really, is don't feel the need to let us know since a) it's too late and b) it's really, really not anyone's beeswax, no matter what the intention. I don't mean for that to sound defensive, I just want to everyone to be at peace. We're good, you're good, let's party.
I don't think that our decision is the decision everyone should make. I can only say what's right for us, and I apologize if I've ever passed judgment on people's decisions about family size. I might not agree that 20 is a good number of kids to shoot for, but I don't have to carry or raise that brood and as long as those who go that route are doing so with love and responsibility to all those lives, there's not a thing I can or should be able to say about it. And I still love babies, always will. Only it's other people's babies now. I'm so thrilled that my friends and relatives are doing their part to populate the world with gorgeous special marshmallow monkeys for me to hold and smell and eat up. I can't wait until the day that my sister or brother make a special announcement (spoiler alert: not any time soon), and I'll be happy to take their little ones off their hands for days at a time. And then give them back.
As you know, I have an amazing relationship with my siblings that I wouldn't trade for the world. It was definitely a consideration we kept on HR's part, knowing that because of us he won't have a chance to have what we both did. But in the end, the possibility of him growing up to be bffs with a brother or sister wasn't a good enough reason on its own to have another kid. We'll do just about anything for him and his happiness, but giving him a sibling just because it seems like we should didn't make the cut.
I don't intend to turn this into a parent-of-an-only-child-blog any more than a blog about day boozing and watching dancing shows. But the details of it will creep in as we go forth, making it just another strand in the rich, fascinating tapestry of my life. And now it's out there and I can get back to what's really important.
Boy bands of the 1970s, obviously.
The thing is, I always thought I wanted a big family, at least three kids. And then I had one, and I realized I just... didn't. I was done. I haven't been wishy washy about it since the day he was born. We kept the option open for two years, and when nothing changed for either of us, Mike volunteered his fertility for the chopping block, the mensch (poor choice of words, Mikey?). Maybe if we had started younger I might have felt differently about it, but I didn't, and this is something that I strongly feel is right for me, for us.
Everyone has an opinion about it, which is why we didn't say anything before the procedure. And I understand why they do, I mean, the people who love and care about us. It's not out of busybodyness, but out of concern, for us and HR. It's out of fear that we'll grow to have regrets, that we'll miss out on what a bigger family could do to enrich all of our lives. And you know, maybe we will. But I'm not worried about that. I'm really not. I'm thrilled to go forward in this life adventure with my husband and son. Because even though we choose to limit our nuclear family unit, we are not alone. We have family and friends and we have buckets and buckets of love. We are absolutely complete. It's ok if this makes you sad or if you think we are wrong, I don't blame you. All there is to say about that, really, is don't feel the need to let us know since a) it's too late and b) it's really, really not anyone's beeswax, no matter what the intention. I don't mean for that to sound defensive, I just want to everyone to be at peace. We're good, you're good, let's party.
I don't think that our decision is the decision everyone should make. I can only say what's right for us, and I apologize if I've ever passed judgment on people's decisions about family size. I might not agree that 20 is a good number of kids to shoot for, but I don't have to carry or raise that brood and as long as those who go that route are doing so with love and responsibility to all those lives, there's not a thing I can or should be able to say about it. And I still love babies, always will. Only it's other people's babies now. I'm so thrilled that my friends and relatives are doing their part to populate the world with gorgeous special marshmallow monkeys for me to hold and smell and eat up. I can't wait until the day that my sister or brother make a special announcement (spoiler alert: not any time soon), and I'll be happy to take their little ones off their hands for days at a time. And then give them back.
As you know, I have an amazing relationship with my siblings that I wouldn't trade for the world. It was definitely a consideration we kept on HR's part, knowing that because of us he won't have a chance to have what we both did. But in the end, the possibility of him growing up to be bffs with a brother or sister wasn't a good enough reason on its own to have another kid. We'll do just about anything for him and his happiness, but giving him a sibling just because it seems like we should didn't make the cut.
I don't intend to turn this into a parent-of-an-only-child-blog any more than a blog about day boozing and watching dancing shows. But the details of it will creep in as we go forth, making it just another strand in the rich, fascinating tapestry of my life. And now it's out there and I can get back to what's really important.
Boy bands of the 1970s, obviously.
Monday, October 22, 2012
Things and Stuff and Noodles
This is the weekend that HR hit a swimming lesson milestone: floating with the noodle, unassisted. Of course he didn't realize that Mike had let go, and is not quite aware of the significance of doing this by himself, since I don't think we're at the point where the concept of "swimming" goes beyond getting submerged and bopping around with whoever is holding him. Propelling himself is not an actual goal (if 2 1/2 year olds even have goals outside of finagling as many cake pops as possible in a given day). Still, his fan club is pleased. Once he gets around to being potty trained, I might just be one of those mamas who starts wishing he'd never do any more growing. Mostly kidding.
This age continues to be a delight in a lot of ways, but my generally sweet tempered boy is also going through one of those mysterious toddlery stages of not wanting to talk to people or have them talk to him. Or about him. Or look at him. Not all the time, but enough to make us feel a little cringe-y. I know our boy is just little still, and can't be held to an older, logical child's standards, and we are trying to handle it consistently and constructively. Right now him talking to family members is non-negotiable - Mike and I are both on the same page about that, and he is forced to speak to the people who love him, as much as he can be forced. And frankly he comes around to that on his own quickly, except for on the phone. But with strangers and some of our friends I'm content right now if he can just respond with a "no thanks" and not flip out or say "go away" when someone speaks to him (he succeeds with this roughly half the time). If we're still dealing with this a year from now it might be a problem, but for now, I assume that, like everything else, we've got to work with him until he outgrows it. And not focus on how it makes us look as parents, because let's face it, nobody can ever with that game. Ideally we'll get somewhere close to finding that balance between being strict disciplinarians who will produce a polite, thoughtful member of society and nurturing, respectful caregivers who take his feelings into account, because someday we're going to have to address stranger danger and personal boundaries. Teaching him that his body is his own is a whole fraught business, and there's a lot of room for confusion. I'll let you know if we conquer that sticky-tricky. In the meantime, we're emphasizing "no thank you," and apologies if my toddler has offended you.
What I really wanted to write about today was Chasing Amy, which Mike and I accidentally rewatched last night when we should have been getting some precious sleep. But I don't have the time necessary to properly produce that dissertation, so it'll have to wait. If I never get to come back to it, I just have this to say: I love this film, and I recognize it is flawed in lots of ways, but it succeeds wildly at being a time capsule of the mid-to-late 1990s. So many baby tees and indoor cigarette smoking scenes.
Onto another controversial filmmaker: say what you will about Quentin Tarantino (I'll say that Django Unchained is also on my "to see" list), but he's certainly done a service to the world of undeservedly obscure songcraft. I know a lot of purists are probably pissed off that he made "their" songs mainstream, but whatever, this particular ditty is so good I can almost hear it now without thinking about dismembered sexy ladies. Almost.
This age continues to be a delight in a lot of ways, but my generally sweet tempered boy is also going through one of those mysterious toddlery stages of not wanting to talk to people or have them talk to him. Or about him. Or look at him. Not all the time, but enough to make us feel a little cringe-y. I know our boy is just little still, and can't be held to an older, logical child's standards, and we are trying to handle it consistently and constructively. Right now him talking to family members is non-negotiable - Mike and I are both on the same page about that, and he is forced to speak to the people who love him, as much as he can be forced. And frankly he comes around to that on his own quickly, except for on the phone. But with strangers and some of our friends I'm content right now if he can just respond with a "no thanks" and not flip out or say "go away" when someone speaks to him (he succeeds with this roughly half the time). If we're still dealing with this a year from now it might be a problem, but for now, I assume that, like everything else, we've got to work with him until he outgrows it. And not focus on how it makes us look as parents, because let's face it, nobody can ever with that game. Ideally we'll get somewhere close to finding that balance between being strict disciplinarians who will produce a polite, thoughtful member of society and nurturing, respectful caregivers who take his feelings into account, because someday we're going to have to address stranger danger and personal boundaries. Teaching him that his body is his own is a whole fraught business, and there's a lot of room for confusion. I'll let you know if we conquer that sticky-tricky. In the meantime, we're emphasizing "no thank you," and apologies if my toddler has offended you.
What I really wanted to write about today was Chasing Amy, which Mike and I accidentally rewatched last night when we should have been getting some precious sleep. But I don't have the time necessary to properly produce that dissertation, so it'll have to wait. If I never get to come back to it, I just have this to say: I love this film, and I recognize it is flawed in lots of ways, but it succeeds wildly at being a time capsule of the mid-to-late 1990s. So many baby tees and indoor cigarette smoking scenes.
Onto another controversial filmmaker: say what you will about Quentin Tarantino (I'll say that Django Unchained is also on my "to see" list), but he's certainly done a service to the world of undeservedly obscure songcraft. I know a lot of purists are probably pissed off that he made "their" songs mainstream, but whatever, this particular ditty is so good I can almost hear it now without thinking about dismembered sexy ladies. Almost.
Thursday, October 18, 2012
Lighter
OK, I think I hit my heavy entry quota for the week with that last one. And I've got to make this quick because I am escaping for some off-site professional development this afternoon. List then? I'm glad you thought of it. Let's do three for three.
Three movies I really want to see even though I doubt I'll see them within the next 5 years because that's how it is with me and movies: Argo, Pitch Perfect and Wreck-It Ralph. Judge away.
Three excellent things I've eaten in the last 24 hours: black pepper fettucine with chicken sausage and broccoli rabe (Capone's fresh pasta, what a treat), Gram's homemade custard pie (yeah I had it for breakfast, and yeah you should be jealous), Gram's homemade eggplant. It's good to have a Gram (and a Mike, he made that first one).
Three books I read on the flights to and from KY: That Old Cape Magic by Richard Russo (I started that one on the beach this summer, fittingly), The Ornithologist's Guide to Life by Ann Hood (write more books please, Ann) and Joy School by Elizabeth Berg (didn't quite finish that one yet). Flying is good at getting you places, but more importantly it helps me get caught up on reading.
Bye until Monday, pals. Oh, and a happy birthday to my favorite mother-in-law!
Dawes, why aren't you the hugest band?
Three movies I really want to see even though I doubt I'll see them within the next 5 years because that's how it is with me and movies: Argo, Pitch Perfect and Wreck-It Ralph. Judge away.
Three excellent things I've eaten in the last 24 hours: black pepper fettucine with chicken sausage and broccoli rabe (Capone's fresh pasta, what a treat), Gram's homemade custard pie (yeah I had it for breakfast, and yeah you should be jealous), Gram's homemade eggplant. It's good to have a Gram (and a Mike, he made that first one).
Three books I read on the flights to and from KY: That Old Cape Magic by Richard Russo (I started that one on the beach this summer, fittingly), The Ornithologist's Guide to Life by Ann Hood (write more books please, Ann) and Joy School by Elizabeth Berg (didn't quite finish that one yet). Flying is good at getting you places, but more importantly it helps me get caught up on reading.
Bye until Monday, pals. Oh, and a happy birthday to my favorite mother-in-law!
Dawes, why aren't you the hugest band?
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
I'm Younger Than That Now
Sometimes I look back at what I write in here and it occurs to me that people think I am a gigantic phony baloney. I'm happy all the time, I'm grateful all the time, everyone in my life is awesome. And I probably wouldn't believe it either. But the truth is yeah, I'm happy most of the time, I try to remember to be grateful always, and I've been extremely, unfairly fortunate to have been born to--and to have in my life for whatever reason--the greatest, dearest people. It's a combination of natural disposition, luck, and growing up. Also, there's a lens between a reader and writer. There's always background, always nuance, and you only get to read what I want you to know.
We all have our good and bad days, and I'm no exception. Things piss me off, things get me down, and it just so happens that most of the time I gravitate away from dwelling on what's nagging at me. Writing has always, always been my go-to form of self-therapy (I have a huge stack of journals that I started writing in like it was my job from the time I was fourteen) and that's how I get out all my bad juju. But when I started writing with the idea that I had an audience, it became an exercise in perspective and focus. By the time I get to synthesizing my thoughts and hitting "publish," I tend to magnify the slightest kernel of positivity over any kvetching or sadness. It's not that I have a secretly bad life, like I said, I'm in a very good place and don't take it for granted. It just doesn't feel right to think it could be perceived as less than genuine. Nobody's a ray of sunshine all the time. And the bad times, they come for everyone.
That whole screed is not a preface to tell you anything's wrong. It's just my way of letting you know that I'm not oblivious to how I come across. That bit about growing up is really the essential ingredient for me. In some ways I guess I was a happy child, but in a lot of ways I wasn't. I was a champion worrier. I was self-conscious. I couldn't sleep. I wasn't quite the self I turned into, and I can tell you exactly why this is. Most of you know that my sister died of cancer when I was five and she was two. I hardly remember anything about that time, but I spent a lot of my life getting over it. It threw my whole family for a loop, and there's nothing anyone can do about that. Frankly I'm amazed my parents were able to get it together as well and quickly as they did. They had two other kids to parent at the time, so that didn't leave them much choice, and they had tons of family support but still, kids dying is a fucking fuck of a thing to ever happen. I know that going through such things is how people get close to god and find comfort in religion, but kids getting sick and dying is the #1 reason I do not. If there's bigger plan that requires such suffering, I don't want anything to do with it. But this isn't about religion or spirituality, and it is in no way an indictment of those things.
My sister dying was one of those things that is nobody's fault, and in the aftermath, everyone did the best they could. I can't imagine one single way that my parents or anyone in my family could have done a better job caring for and loving me. I just needed to grow up and find a way to get to my happiness. And eventually, I did. It wasn't a deliberate decision to search for happiness or just one day decide to be happy. I'm not even sure that I was fully aware that I wasn't. I just somehow, along the way, let go of my constant anxiety and it changed my outlook. I've had some truly wonderful and amazing things happen in my life, in every stage, but in no way would I want to go back, and that is why.
My current job, the one I never consciously sought but ended up in by a series of circumstances over 15 years ago, forces me to confront my family's past situation every day, which makes a strange kind of sense. I see the sickest of the sickest kids, and deal with families in various stages of holding it together and falling apart. They are all terrified and brave, frustrated and heartbroken. Frustrating and heartbreaking, too. I joke that the reason I don't dissolve into a puddle of grief every day is because so many of the adults I encounter deal with their situation by being entitled pains in the ass or totally cuckoo and that shifts the emphasis away from what's really going on. Everyone has a coping mechanism, including me, and it's in my professional and personal interest to not take on every sad burden. But I'm not immune, especially now that I have a child.
Kids and adults get sick. Everyone dies. Everyone's got their shit going on. It sucks, it's unavoidable. But today, I'm alive. And here is my truth, today. And I'm holding onto my happiness within that truth, as long as I can. At the very least, for today.
We all have our good and bad days, and I'm no exception. Things piss me off, things get me down, and it just so happens that most of the time I gravitate away from dwelling on what's nagging at me. Writing has always, always been my go-to form of self-therapy (I have a huge stack of journals that I started writing in like it was my job from the time I was fourteen) and that's how I get out all my bad juju. But when I started writing with the idea that I had an audience, it became an exercise in perspective and focus. By the time I get to synthesizing my thoughts and hitting "publish," I tend to magnify the slightest kernel of positivity over any kvetching or sadness. It's not that I have a secretly bad life, like I said, I'm in a very good place and don't take it for granted. It just doesn't feel right to think it could be perceived as less than genuine. Nobody's a ray of sunshine all the time. And the bad times, they come for everyone.
That whole screed is not a preface to tell you anything's wrong. It's just my way of letting you know that I'm not oblivious to how I come across. That bit about growing up is really the essential ingredient for me. In some ways I guess I was a happy child, but in a lot of ways I wasn't. I was a champion worrier. I was self-conscious. I couldn't sleep. I wasn't quite the self I turned into, and I can tell you exactly why this is. Most of you know that my sister died of cancer when I was five and she was two. I hardly remember anything about that time, but I spent a lot of my life getting over it. It threw my whole family for a loop, and there's nothing anyone can do about that. Frankly I'm amazed my parents were able to get it together as well and quickly as they did. They had two other kids to parent at the time, so that didn't leave them much choice, and they had tons of family support but still, kids dying is a fucking fuck of a thing to ever happen. I know that going through such things is how people get close to god and find comfort in religion, but kids getting sick and dying is the #1 reason I do not. If there's bigger plan that requires such suffering, I don't want anything to do with it. But this isn't about religion or spirituality, and it is in no way an indictment of those things.
My sister dying was one of those things that is nobody's fault, and in the aftermath, everyone did the best they could. I can't imagine one single way that my parents or anyone in my family could have done a better job caring for and loving me. I just needed to grow up and find a way to get to my happiness. And eventually, I did. It wasn't a deliberate decision to search for happiness or just one day decide to be happy. I'm not even sure that I was fully aware that I wasn't. I just somehow, along the way, let go of my constant anxiety and it changed my outlook. I've had some truly wonderful and amazing things happen in my life, in every stage, but in no way would I want to go back, and that is why.
My current job, the one I never consciously sought but ended up in by a series of circumstances over 15 years ago, forces me to confront my family's past situation every day, which makes a strange kind of sense. I see the sickest of the sickest kids, and deal with families in various stages of holding it together and falling apart. They are all terrified and brave, frustrated and heartbroken. Frustrating and heartbreaking, too. I joke that the reason I don't dissolve into a puddle of grief every day is because so many of the adults I encounter deal with their situation by being entitled pains in the ass or totally cuckoo and that shifts the emphasis away from what's really going on. Everyone has a coping mechanism, including me, and it's in my professional and personal interest to not take on every sad burden. But I'm not immune, especially now that I have a child.
Kids and adults get sick. Everyone dies. Everyone's got their shit going on. It sucks, it's unavoidable. But today, I'm alive. And here is my truth, today. And I'm holding onto my happiness within that truth, as long as I can. At the very least, for today.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Good Times Rolling
I went to Kentucky, and all I brought back was a couple of fiddy-cent coloring books for HR. And a bunch of memories of a wedding weekend spent with stellar human beings, so I guess that means it was worth it. It was really a blast, and so good to see people we haven't seen for so long and pick up from where we left off the last time we saw them. It was an honor to be invited to the wedding and be part of the celebration, but more importantly it's an honor to know the bride and the people in our lives that probably wouldn't be there without her. Someday we will get to Israel and see her where she's made her home for the past seven years, but for now, a little trip to Louisville was the fix we needed.
The wedding was absolutely lovely, festive and intimate and fun, and there was also plenty of downtime to just hang out and even get some sleep (we were in bed before our usual bedtime both nights which was sweeeeet). Even in the whirlwind timeframe, this is one of the first trips from which I've returned not feeling like I need a day off to recover.
My child, though happy to have us back, is really missing his grandparents (and great-grandmother and uncle, who rounded out the HR spoiling team). I was missing HR pretty keenly by the time Monday morning rolled around, but our time spent without him was great and necessary, and I'm grateful to my family for giving up their time to babysit. I'm also grateful he gets this time to spend with individual family members on various occasions. I had always hoped to give my child the kind of close family I knew, on both sides, and I can confidently say so far so good with that. I never doubt that he's well cared for by people who love him, but it's also comforting that he knows and adores his caretakers. That's one thing that I can cross off my list of parental worries, though to be honest it never made the list in the first place.
Little getaways have lots of benefits, and one is that they can serve as a reminder to couples why they chose each other initially. To wit: on Sunday morning we were enjoying some lazy, indulgent time like you only do in a hotel, lounging in bed watching Wayne's World as if it was the only thing to do in the world, and I was like, "Breakfast beer?" To which Mike replied, "I was JUST going to say that." It's nearly telepathy between us, but also illustrative of how, you know, the romance never dies. I like to think that every couple saying their vows is looking to that exact sort of magic in their future. For real though, to me, the Wayne's World breakfast beer is an unheard of luxury in workaday life, and that it represents the same to Mike is a pretty clear indicator that we're meant to be.
All right now, make sure you watch this clip because it is truly amazing.
The wedding was absolutely lovely, festive and intimate and fun, and there was also plenty of downtime to just hang out and even get some sleep (we were in bed before our usual bedtime both nights which was sweeeeet). Even in the whirlwind timeframe, this is one of the first trips from which I've returned not feeling like I need a day off to recover.
My child, though happy to have us back, is really missing his grandparents (and great-grandmother and uncle, who rounded out the HR spoiling team). I was missing HR pretty keenly by the time Monday morning rolled around, but our time spent without him was great and necessary, and I'm grateful to my family for giving up their time to babysit. I'm also grateful he gets this time to spend with individual family members on various occasions. I had always hoped to give my child the kind of close family I knew, on both sides, and I can confidently say so far so good with that. I never doubt that he's well cared for by people who love him, but it's also comforting that he knows and adores his caretakers. That's one thing that I can cross off my list of parental worries, though to be honest it never made the list in the first place.
Little getaways have lots of benefits, and one is that they can serve as a reminder to couples why they chose each other initially. To wit: on Sunday morning we were enjoying some lazy, indulgent time like you only do in a hotel, lounging in bed watching Wayne's World as if it was the only thing to do in the world, and I was like, "Breakfast beer?" To which Mike replied, "I was JUST going to say that." It's nearly telepathy between us, but also illustrative of how, you know, the romance never dies. I like to think that every couple saying their vows is looking to that exact sort of magic in their future. For real though, to me, the Wayne's World breakfast beer is an unheard of luxury in workaday life, and that it represents the same to Mike is a pretty clear indicator that we're meant to be.
All right now, make sure you watch this clip because it is truly amazing.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Thank You, Baby
14 years ago today Mike and I got married, and what do you know, it stuck. I am of the belief now that it should have been illegal for us to be married so young. We weren't teenagers, we knew we loved each other, and I have no regrets whatsoever. I just think that, on principle it's a good idea for both parties to be at least 25 when they hitch up, if not 30. We are one of the success stories nonetheless, which I can only chalk up to patience, communication, trust, and beer. Oh, and love. I got very lucky when Mike came into my life, he's been my best friend for over 17 years, there's nobody else I'd rather hang out with, and it's obvious I would have still married him if we waited until we were way older to make it official. It just blows my mind that we've crossed into this territory, I mean, didn't we just, JUST celebrate our tenth?
We have never been very big on marking the occasion, outside of cards. Things that happen every year sort of breeze by, and I do like to think we make a point to appreciate each other every day. Some days it's more work than others, and of course we take each other for granted a lot of the time, but it evens out. We're low key, and it works for us. Big milestones are of another sort though, and we've talked about doing something big for our 15th next year, like maybe going to Europe with HR in tow, but that's a ways away and also going to Europe isn't free. You'd think it would be, but I checked, and nope. As it is we have our (have I mentioned it?) trip to Mexico in just a few weeks which was technically planned to mark Mike's 40th, but is pretty much all the birthday, holiday and anniversary presents we might have bought for each other combined for the past five years. It's gonna be so awesome, y'all!
Also awesome, our girl who has been living abroad for years is having a stateside wedding this weekend and we're jetting down to her home state, one that neither of us has visited before, to pay our proper respects. I'm really looking forward to it for many reasons, like celebrating the joyous occasion, seeing the bride (honestly, has it been five years?) and meeting her husband, and partying it up with other long-time-no-see friends. There's also the bonus of a solo getaway for Mike and me, two nights to just be together with nobody working, and theoretically sleeping through the night and into the morning (body clocks are hard to override, but just the opportunity is delicious). We'll miss HR, but honestly not too much. He'll be having a blast with his many attendants, and Monday will come all too soon.
I'll wrap it up with a toast: to my favorite husband, favorite marriage, favorite life.
We have never been very big on marking the occasion, outside of cards. Things that happen every year sort of breeze by, and I do like to think we make a point to appreciate each other every day. Some days it's more work than others, and of course we take each other for granted a lot of the time, but it evens out. We're low key, and it works for us. Big milestones are of another sort though, and we've talked about doing something big for our 15th next year, like maybe going to Europe with HR in tow, but that's a ways away and also going to Europe isn't free. You'd think it would be, but I checked, and nope. As it is we have our (have I mentioned it?) trip to Mexico in just a few weeks which was technically planned to mark Mike's 40th, but is pretty much all the birthday, holiday and anniversary presents we might have bought for each other combined for the past five years. It's gonna be so awesome, y'all!
Also awesome, our girl who has been living abroad for years is having a stateside wedding this weekend and we're jetting down to her home state, one that neither of us has visited before, to pay our proper respects. I'm really looking forward to it for many reasons, like celebrating the joyous occasion, seeing the bride (honestly, has it been five years?) and meeting her husband, and partying it up with other long-time-no-see friends. There's also the bonus of a solo getaway for Mike and me, two nights to just be together with nobody working, and theoretically sleeping through the night and into the morning (body clocks are hard to override, but just the opportunity is delicious). We'll miss HR, but honestly not too much. He'll be having a blast with his many attendants, and Monday will come all too soon.
I'll wrap it up with a toast: to my favorite husband, favorite marriage, favorite life.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
In Celebration of Girliness, Of a Sort
As I mentioned yesterday, Mike, HR and I have been on an old photograph binge which won't let up until we get through the whole archive. The boy has loved looking at pictures for as long as I can remember, and it's fun to play "who's this?" with him. He's quite good at identifying people even when they were much younger, not that I'm saying he's some kind of genius or anything, I just wonder how he even has a concept of the past and how people age. For Mike and me the appeal is entirely different, looking on people we loved and lost, or reliving wonderful times. Nostalgia-a-go-go. One thing that has been hammered home to me after seeing my own mug ad nauseum, from childhood up until now is that I cannot believe how I let myself leave the house on a regular basis.
From, oh, the college years or so, I began to really embrace a persona that prided itself on being low maintenance. I did nothing to my hair beyond putting it in a ponytail. I never wore make up (not that I do much now, but the idea was absolutely abhorrent then). And I bought cheap, simple, unflattering clothes because I didn't care. Tee shirts, sweaters, jeans and sneakers were my staples, and I rarely tried things on. I wanted to be attractive, but I didn't have the patience to put any effort in. That's where youth was on my side - that's when you can get away with being a slob. And I was comfortable and happy. I only cringe in retrospect.
What surprises me really is that the attitude extended to my wedding day. I didn't have my hair or makeup done, my aunt practically had to wrestle me to the ground to get some foundation on me so I wouldn't be too shiny in photographs, and all I can see when I look back at myself is, would it have killed me to buy a new bra for the occasion that actually provided some support? And this is when I had good, young boobs. I just did not make it a priority. I think I got a manicure for the occasion, but I had never even entertained the reality of a pedicure. Feet were feet, right? Yes I was a relative child when we were married, and that helped me look cute despite it all, but I wonder deep down if I really didn't care, or if I was just overly attached to my anti-bridezilla image. It was my wedding day, the single most photographed occasion of my life, and I was like, eh. But I think it's telling that the one little meltdown I had in regards to the wedding was a couple of nights before, when I saw a photograph of me in my gown at my last fitting (in the days before digital, there were no instant results back then) and I decided I looked awful. I pushed the remorse aside and soldiered on, but even then, I think I wished I had put just a little more care into my appearance. I think I wanted to be someone who didn't care, but deep down I did care and I couldn't reconcile my reputation for being easygoing with wanting to look pretty on my wedding day.
Somehow, over the years, I started caring, and started being OK with caring. I slowly came to accept that putting in the extra effort of being thoughtful in clothing choices, being willing to pay lot for a haircut or a decent pair of jeans, was fine if it was within my means and it made a difference in my outlook. I've discovered the joy of the occasional pedicure, which is something I couldn't even fathom in olden times-- I wasn't one of "those" girls, you know? But it turns out I am one of those, and it doesn't make me a difficult or annoying person. I mean, I may be difficult or annoying for other reasons, but I'm not defined by what I do to make me feel good about presenting myself to the world every day. I know I'm the only one this means anything to, but it's just that, I do it for myself. It's frivolous in the scheme of things, but it's not for nothing. It took me way longer than it should have to realize that it doesn't make me less smart or kind or less of a feminist to want to look nice. If my appearance started to be my top priority, or if I started on the slippery slope of equating my worth with my looks, we'd have problems. I'm just saying it took me a long time to make peace with myself as an anti-girly-girl who has some traditional girly-girl tendencies. It's a shame it takes so long to get to these realizations sometimes, but I can't say I have regrets about time I didn't spend fixating on my appearance, only the time that I inverted the fixation, suppressing parts of my real personality because of how I might have been perceived. One of the great things about getting older is that shame goes out the window. You become hyper-aware that life is too short for not owning yourself. And for bad bras. And not listening to the Sex Pistols.
From, oh, the college years or so, I began to really embrace a persona that prided itself on being low maintenance. I did nothing to my hair beyond putting it in a ponytail. I never wore make up (not that I do much now, but the idea was absolutely abhorrent then). And I bought cheap, simple, unflattering clothes because I didn't care. Tee shirts, sweaters, jeans and sneakers were my staples, and I rarely tried things on. I wanted to be attractive, but I didn't have the patience to put any effort in. That's where youth was on my side - that's when you can get away with being a slob. And I was comfortable and happy. I only cringe in retrospect.
What surprises me really is that the attitude extended to my wedding day. I didn't have my hair or makeup done, my aunt practically had to wrestle me to the ground to get some foundation on me so I wouldn't be too shiny in photographs, and all I can see when I look back at myself is, would it have killed me to buy a new bra for the occasion that actually provided some support? And this is when I had good, young boobs. I just did not make it a priority. I think I got a manicure for the occasion, but I had never even entertained the reality of a pedicure. Feet were feet, right? Yes I was a relative child when we were married, and that helped me look cute despite it all, but I wonder deep down if I really didn't care, or if I was just overly attached to my anti-bridezilla image. It was my wedding day, the single most photographed occasion of my life, and I was like, eh. But I think it's telling that the one little meltdown I had in regards to the wedding was a couple of nights before, when I saw a photograph of me in my gown at my last fitting (in the days before digital, there were no instant results back then) and I decided I looked awful. I pushed the remorse aside and soldiered on, but even then, I think I wished I had put just a little more care into my appearance. I think I wanted to be someone who didn't care, but deep down I did care and I couldn't reconcile my reputation for being easygoing with wanting to look pretty on my wedding day.
Somehow, over the years, I started caring, and started being OK with caring. I slowly came to accept that putting in the extra effort of being thoughtful in clothing choices, being willing to pay lot for a haircut or a decent pair of jeans, was fine if it was within my means and it made a difference in my outlook. I've discovered the joy of the occasional pedicure, which is something I couldn't even fathom in olden times-- I wasn't one of "those" girls, you know? But it turns out I am one of those, and it doesn't make me a difficult or annoying person. I mean, I may be difficult or annoying for other reasons, but I'm not defined by what I do to make me feel good about presenting myself to the world every day. I know I'm the only one this means anything to, but it's just that, I do it for myself. It's frivolous in the scheme of things, but it's not for nothing. It took me way longer than it should have to realize that it doesn't make me less smart or kind or less of a feminist to want to look nice. If my appearance started to be my top priority, or if I started on the slippery slope of equating my worth with my looks, we'd have problems. I'm just saying it took me a long time to make peace with myself as an anti-girly-girl who has some traditional girly-girl tendencies. It's a shame it takes so long to get to these realizations sometimes, but I can't say I have regrets about time I didn't spend fixating on my appearance, only the time that I inverted the fixation, suppressing parts of my real personality because of how I might have been perceived. One of the great things about getting older is that shame goes out the window. You become hyper-aware that life is too short for not owning yourself. And for bad bras. And not listening to the Sex Pistols.
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Heady Times
This weekend we teamed up with some friends and took our little ones to "A Day Out With Thomas." In ideal terms, it's a chance for kids to see their choo-choo obsession come to life, which of course is magical and whatnot. In realistic terms, it's an opportunity to drop a ton of bank on merchandise. Lucky for us, though HR lacks for nothing and gets treats all the time, he's very chill in stores and rarely asks for anything, including on this occasion. He was happy to play with the many train sets provided and move on. So right off the bat, it was Family: 1, Greedy Event Organizers: 0.
The overall experience of the event was interesting, and I find that these things never happen like you think they will. For example, he was suitably awe-struck with his first sighting of a real-life Thomas chugging by when we arrived, and enjoyed the train ride when it was our turn, but overall he seemed unimpressed by just about everything, including his first ride on a carousel. Here we are having a photo op while we waited to board Thomas. That is not the face of a thrilled child, though to be fair, he's not into having his picture taken these days, anywhere or for any reason.
By far his favorite part of the day was getting to meet Sir Topham Hatt, owner of the Sodor Railway and all around self-important dictator. He is not as cuddly and benevolent on the show as the costume makes him seem, but my kid would have stayed there all day high-fiving and waving to this creepy, earless, silent facsimile. You just never know what's going to be the thing they take away in the precious moments department. And that's part of the fun, I guess.
I think HR is just old enough to enjoy something like this, we didn't stay long enough for him to be overstimulated, he didn't get carsick on the ride down, and he passed out on the ride back. So even if he wasn't overcome with wonder the entire time, I'd say the excursion was definitely worth it.
We also read Where The Wild Things Are for the first time over the weekend, and though we apparently don't share the same distaste for people in costume, my boy and I are simpatico regarding Maurice Sendak. There were many repeat readings, and, as it's my favorite picture book of all time and the dearly departed Mr. Sendak is a personal hero, that means a lot to me. Of course I expect him to be so over it by next week, but "We'll eat you up, we love you so!" has been permanently added to his frame of reference so I feel my job here is done.
We've been going through a family-wide obsession with old photographs, and it has renewed my quest to achieve some kind of preserving-while-living balance. So far I think we're doing OK.
Here's a song that never fails to inspire. And if this isn't your day, play it again tomorrow.
The overall experience of the event was interesting, and I find that these things never happen like you think they will. For example, he was suitably awe-struck with his first sighting of a real-life Thomas chugging by when we arrived, and enjoyed the train ride when it was our turn, but overall he seemed unimpressed by just about everything, including his first ride on a carousel. Here we are having a photo op while we waited to board Thomas. That is not the face of a thrilled child, though to be fair, he's not into having his picture taken these days, anywhere or for any reason.
I think HR is just old enough to enjoy something like this, we didn't stay long enough for him to be overstimulated, he didn't get carsick on the ride down, and he passed out on the ride back. So even if he wasn't overcome with wonder the entire time, I'd say the excursion was definitely worth it.
We also read Where The Wild Things Are for the first time over the weekend, and though we apparently don't share the same distaste for people in costume, my boy and I are simpatico regarding Maurice Sendak. There were many repeat readings, and, as it's my favorite picture book of all time and the dearly departed Mr. Sendak is a personal hero, that means a lot to me. Of course I expect him to be so over it by next week, but "We'll eat you up, we love you so!" has been permanently added to his frame of reference so I feel my job here is done.
We've been going through a family-wide obsession with old photographs, and it has renewed my quest to achieve some kind of preserving-while-living balance. So far I think we're doing OK.
Here's a song that never fails to inspire. And if this isn't your day, play it again tomorrow.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
My Solution to Everything
Sooo... how about that crushing snoozefest of a debate last night? That was not a politically galvanizing experience for me. I'll watch the rest of them of course. And I hope Obama will step up, for my own reasons. But mostly I hope that the discourse gets a bit less rote, and more intelligible. It would not kill either candidate to show a spark of humanistic passion either, but then again that's not considered professional. Maybe when we get into the meaty, personal stuff, like gay marriage and, you know, whether or not women folk can be trusted with brains. All I know is, good thing beer was invented. And friend updates on facebook. Though that backfired to an extent. I tried, I really tried, to look away from the ones that weren't clever and amusing, but I was tricked into reading something written by a person who disagreed with a friend's posting. If a person accuses the President for being "racially dividing," that person's just using fancy lingo to try and disguise his own racism, right? Yeah, I thought so.
I mean, really? A black president in the White House is racially dividing? You must be a genius. It wasn't the term "racially dividing" itself that offended me (though I think the correct term here would be "racially divisive"), it was the implication at the heart of the comment that a white president wouldn't create any kind of race issues. Or maybe he thinks that another black president would be a-ok, it's just Obama that's out there to get a race war going? I don't see another way to interpret the initial statement, and I'm trying not to let the memory of it ruin my mindset for the day, even though it's already hijacked my blog post. If nothing else, getting all het up served as a valuable reminder that I should never, ever read comment threads if they don't concern, for example, whether Slick Rick was underrated (the only subject on which I truly claim to be an expert) or isn't meant for me in any other way. It's not like I think not seeing things will make them go away, I just try to limit my discussions of very sensitive subjects such as racism to the productive, insightful ones. Casual hatefulness helps nobody on either side. Except me when I casually, hatefully, say, fuck that guy. I'm glad I don't know him.
Argh, I forget what else I was planning to write about. So let's dance.
I mean, really? A black president in the White House is racially dividing? You must be a genius. It wasn't the term "racially dividing" itself that offended me (though I think the correct term here would be "racially divisive"), it was the implication at the heart of the comment that a white president wouldn't create any kind of race issues. Or maybe he thinks that another black president would be a-ok, it's just Obama that's out there to get a race war going? I don't see another way to interpret the initial statement, and I'm trying not to let the memory of it ruin my mindset for the day, even though it's already hijacked my blog post. If nothing else, getting all het up served as a valuable reminder that I should never, ever read comment threads if they don't concern, for example, whether Slick Rick was underrated (the only subject on which I truly claim to be an expert) or isn't meant for me in any other way. It's not like I think not seeing things will make them go away, I just try to limit my discussions of very sensitive subjects such as racism to the productive, insightful ones. Casual hatefulness helps nobody on either side. Except me when I casually, hatefully, say, fuck that guy. I'm glad I don't know him.
Argh, I forget what else I was planning to write about. So let's dance.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
An Endless Parade of Eureka Moments
After a lunch date of delicious pizza and equally delicious company, my will to get back work has been temporarily misplaced. I knew it would happen, but it's never not worth it to be able to zip out and dine with my favorite gentlemen (Mike and HR, in case there was any doubt) when the chance presents itself. If I have to resort to late afternoon caffeine, so be it.
On the way to the restaurant, which required me to walk the route by my old college campus, I was hit with a wave of nostalgia. Make no mistake, I am very happy to not be in school at the moment. The thought of never having to compose another academic paper is both thrilling and a teeny, tiny bit sad. Mostly thrilling. But man I loved school, for the school of it. I wasn't a great social butterfly in my higher learning days, I mean, I had friends and I do have some great memories of non-scholastic exploits, but when I feel a yearning for college, it's always in terms of the classroom. I would freaking love to be sitting around talking about Tom Jones for two hours or doing an intense workshop on a poem right now. It's not like studying liberal arts did much for me, professionally, but I loved the curriculum, and the experience of going to college turned me into an adult really fast, in the best way possible. I learned quickly how much I reveled in being on my own, making my own decisions, figuring things out. It just so happened that my readiness to leave one nest (my family home) coincided with my excitement about landing in another (a world of Shakespeare Workshop, Nonfiction Writing, Women in Literature and the Colonial Perspective, you get the picture).
When I speak of my nostalgia, it's not like I want to go "back there" and relive it. I just look back fondly on my experience, and if I can make a point to access and maintain the feeling that was stirred up in me this afternoon, hit that sweet spot that was the product of 8+ years of nurtured fancy book learnin' (I did my graduate work on a slooooowwww track), I am in my happy place. I know for sure that I experienced a lot of stress in the process of earning my degrees, but that's not the part that truly sticks with me. I already knew that learning made me happy. Creating and contributing made me happy. But college brought it out in me in a way I'd never expected.
That was worth all the money spent. I will say that I do not come from a family with means-- I was so lucky, both in how my alma mater really hooked me up in terms of grants and scholarships, and how I was able to cover the rest through a combination of annual birthday-and-Christmas savings bonds (thank you, Gram and Pup) and loans. Of which I'm finally at the tail end of repaying. I don't know how people do it these days, honestly, or how we'll do it for HR when it comes time. And I know college isn't for everyone. But it so, so, so was for me. And in a perfect world everyone should have the opportunity to live what I lived, get out of it what they can get out of it, if that's what they want. And that is a grim prospect these days.
I am publicly stating for the record that I don't want to go back for my PhD or be a professor or teach in any way shape or form. But academia will never not appeal to me as a gauzy, fantastical, heaven-like state. Not in the snobbish, exclusive way. Just the totally ecstatic, books-are-our-friends way.
Collegiate song tie-in, kinda: one night in my sophomore year, either my roommate or I had this song in our head and we became obsessed with it, staying up all night trying to remember who sang it. If it were even a couple of years later, the internet would have solved that in seconds. Instead we lost a lot of sleep on a song that, as it turned out, neither of us liked much in the first place. But at the moment one of us--I still can't recall who--came up with the singer's name, it was THE most satisfying feeling.
On the way to the restaurant, which required me to walk the route by my old college campus, I was hit with a wave of nostalgia. Make no mistake, I am very happy to not be in school at the moment. The thought of never having to compose another academic paper is both thrilling and a teeny, tiny bit sad. Mostly thrilling. But man I loved school, for the school of it. I wasn't a great social butterfly in my higher learning days, I mean, I had friends and I do have some great memories of non-scholastic exploits, but when I feel a yearning for college, it's always in terms of the classroom. I would freaking love to be sitting around talking about Tom Jones for two hours or doing an intense workshop on a poem right now. It's not like studying liberal arts did much for me, professionally, but I loved the curriculum, and the experience of going to college turned me into an adult really fast, in the best way possible. I learned quickly how much I reveled in being on my own, making my own decisions, figuring things out. It just so happened that my readiness to leave one nest (my family home) coincided with my excitement about landing in another (a world of Shakespeare Workshop, Nonfiction Writing, Women in Literature and the Colonial Perspective, you get the picture).
When I speak of my nostalgia, it's not like I want to go "back there" and relive it. I just look back fondly on my experience, and if I can make a point to access and maintain the feeling that was stirred up in me this afternoon, hit that sweet spot that was the product of 8+ years of nurtured fancy book learnin' (I did my graduate work on a slooooowwww track), I am in my happy place. I know for sure that I experienced a lot of stress in the process of earning my degrees, but that's not the part that truly sticks with me. I already knew that learning made me happy. Creating and contributing made me happy. But college brought it out in me in a way I'd never expected.
That was worth all the money spent. I will say that I do not come from a family with means-- I was so lucky, both in how my alma mater really hooked me up in terms of grants and scholarships, and how I was able to cover the rest through a combination of annual birthday-and-Christmas savings bonds (thank you, Gram and Pup) and loans. Of which I'm finally at the tail end of repaying. I don't know how people do it these days, honestly, or how we'll do it for HR when it comes time. And I know college isn't for everyone. But it so, so, so was for me. And in a perfect world everyone should have the opportunity to live what I lived, get out of it what they can get out of it, if that's what they want. And that is a grim prospect these days.
I am publicly stating for the record that I don't want to go back for my PhD or be a professor or teach in any way shape or form. But academia will never not appeal to me as a gauzy, fantastical, heaven-like state. Not in the snobbish, exclusive way. Just the totally ecstatic, books-are-our-friends way.
Collegiate song tie-in, kinda: one night in my sophomore year, either my roommate or I had this song in our head and we became obsessed with it, staying up all night trying to remember who sang it. If it were even a couple of years later, the internet would have solved that in seconds. Instead we lost a lot of sleep on a song that, as it turned out, neither of us liked much in the first place. But at the moment one of us--I still can't recall who--came up with the singer's name, it was THE most satisfying feeling.
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Friday, I'm a Radio For You
Friday is the best. I've always loved Fridays, like everyone else (most human Americans at least), because of what they represent: closure and renewal. The end of the tiring traditional workweek, and the start of something unknown, so open with promise and, at the very least, the chance to stay up late and sleep in the next day. Of course nowadays "sleeping in" is rare and means 7 a.m., and my weekends mean a lot less time doing whatever I want and doing more of whatever works for a toddler, but hey, it's still the weekend. My current Friday love, though, is soundly rooted in the idea of a guaranteed start-to-finish with my little family.
Now, you will never hear me complain about our busy hodgepodge of a week, because it's the byproduct of what we need to do to run our family the way we want. In order to have HR home with a parent, we needed to get creative, job-wise. And that meant taking turns being at work, pretty much. I like working outside of the home, I enjoy my job and it's cool being the breadwinner (even if I can't totally finance us on my salary alone). Mike's a natural at being the primary caregiver, and HR is thriving. I know the kid would do just fine in daycare, but I'm happy we were able to avoid that route for now. It does, however, mean that complete family time is at a premium. This is where Friday shows itself to be especially valuable. Thanks to my kind and flexible work superiors, I was able to wrangle Friday as a work-from-home day. I still have to do my work, obviously, but that extra day of not being away from home means little things like, getting a chance to put HR down for his nap, and being there when he wakes. Having Mama and Daddy there for bath, and bedtime. Getting to have lunch together, and being at home with the boy so Mike can get errands done and we can dedicate the evening to hanging out, the two of us. Sometimes if we plan to travel on the weekends, we get to our destination early so I can work from there and the boys can get a jump on enjoying. There is no other day of the week where we get to do this. It costs my employers nothing, hell they even save money by not having me use electricity and water and whatnot at the office. Simply put, it's an easy way for them to show that they value an employee. Everyone wins.
I know everything will change once HR is in school, but I don't have a clear plan of how (other than, maybe, Mike will get a break every now and again from always being "on"). It's cool, we don't need to. It's years away. For now, I just value this time together. I am so grateful for my Fridays, I couldn't even put a price on what it means.
This song has nothing to do with anything except I heard it yesterday and it's a good'un.
Now, you will never hear me complain about our busy hodgepodge of a week, because it's the byproduct of what we need to do to run our family the way we want. In order to have HR home with a parent, we needed to get creative, job-wise. And that meant taking turns being at work, pretty much. I like working outside of the home, I enjoy my job and it's cool being the breadwinner (even if I can't totally finance us on my salary alone). Mike's a natural at being the primary caregiver, and HR is thriving. I know the kid would do just fine in daycare, but I'm happy we were able to avoid that route for now. It does, however, mean that complete family time is at a premium. This is where Friday shows itself to be especially valuable. Thanks to my kind and flexible work superiors, I was able to wrangle Friday as a work-from-home day. I still have to do my work, obviously, but that extra day of not being away from home means little things like, getting a chance to put HR down for his nap, and being there when he wakes. Having Mama and Daddy there for bath, and bedtime. Getting to have lunch together, and being at home with the boy so Mike can get errands done and we can dedicate the evening to hanging out, the two of us. Sometimes if we plan to travel on the weekends, we get to our destination early so I can work from there and the boys can get a jump on enjoying. There is no other day of the week where we get to do this. It costs my employers nothing, hell they even save money by not having me use electricity and water and whatnot at the office. Simply put, it's an easy way for them to show that they value an employee. Everyone wins.
I know everything will change once HR is in school, but I don't have a clear plan of how (other than, maybe, Mike will get a break every now and again from always being "on"). It's cool, we don't need to. It's years away. For now, I just value this time together. I am so grateful for my Fridays, I couldn't even put a price on what it means.
This song has nothing to do with anything except I heard it yesterday and it's a good'un.
Monday, October 1, 2012
Just to Say
Happy October, finally. This month is my joint. It's my boo. It's my light, over at the Frankenstein place. To October, I raise a Pumking on draft. September, see you in hell.
It seems no coincidence that many of my favorite people were born in October, including 2/3rds of Mike's family. And of course the first day belongs to my girl Nik, who is having (as I will next month) what I like to call the 20th anniversary of her 18th birthday.
In your honor, Niki:
Nothing but the best quality for you, babe! And now that I've paid my fittingly graceful tribute to a beautiful month and a beautiful woman, additional words seem unnecessary. A demain!
It seems no coincidence that many of my favorite people were born in October, including 2/3rds of Mike's family. And of course the first day belongs to my girl Nik, who is having (as I will next month) what I like to call the 20th anniversary of her 18th birthday.
In your honor, Niki:
Nothing but the best quality for you, babe! And now that I've paid my fittingly graceful tribute to a beautiful month and a beautiful woman, additional words seem unnecessary. A demain!
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